PROXIMA
BY CHASE HILDENBRAND
Table of Contents
Title Page
Proxima (Proxima Odyssey Series, #1)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
For my family and friends. Thank you for your wonderful support.
PROXIMA
Copyright 2020 By Chase Hildenbrand
All Rights Reserved
The characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not
intended by the author.
No parts of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission by the author.
PART 1
Chapter 1
THE VIOLENT EXPLOSION threw Liam’s body across the room, slamming him into a wall where he crashed hard to the floor landing on his side. Dust and smoke filled the room and through the haze the torrid orange flicker of fire began to spread into his office.
The temperature in the room already rose at an alarming rate and grew hotter every second he wasted lying there cradling his hurt left arm. He had to try and stay below the smoke and crawl to safety. He checked the direction of the office door, but too much fire blocked his path. It would have to be the window. One inch at a time, he told himself. Heavy smoke filled his lungs as he fought just to breathe let alone exert enough energy to make his way to the window.
If he could find the strength in him to cross the distance, then his only problem would be the two story drop to the ground. One thing at a time.
A fit of coughing derailed what little progress he made and he collapsed back down on the carpet. The heat became unbearable. The fiery glow steadily grew brighter as the flames creeped their way closer to his dragging feet. He needed fresh air before he suffocated or burned to death.
His thoughts drifted to Ann. Had she been here when it blew? He wasn’t sure. The building he had the unfortunate luck of being in was one of several on the warehouse campus. She typically worked in a lab a few hundred yards away, but frequented his building enough to cause him concern. First, he knew he had to save himself then he could worry about his girlfriend, and he couldn’t do that while coughing on the floor.
His strong physique was a product of being a veteran of more than a few wars. After his service ended he kept himself in shape, always ready for the next impending conflict. Could this explosion be part of that next conflict? Perhaps it was merely an accident? A gas leak.
The campus where he worked represented one of eight in his organization that spanned around the world. The previous year an unknown terrorist group attacked the campus in India destroying three buildings and killing dozens. The damage set their project back years. Things had been quiet since, but his instinct screamed at him this was more than an accident. Terrorists killing the very people who want to save them. It didn’t make sense to him, but nothing much did anymore in this world. He set that thought away to ponder another time.
He mustered all his energy to keep crawling. He calculated he had less than a minute to get some air before he would pass out and likely die of smoke inhalation. His muscles ached furiously as he finally reached the window sill and struggled to pull himself up to a standing position.
The thick glass failed to shatter in the explosion. He tried to open it, but couldn’t find the locks. Then he remembered the windows in this building didn’t open above the first floor—of course they didn’t with the high suicide rate, clearly the lack of oxygen was affecting his ability to think straight. With agony, he managed to pull his shirt over his head. He wrapped it around his right fist, already feeling like he may pass out any second, and punched the window. Glass shards sliced into his forearm as he swept away the fragments on the edges of the frame. Smoke raced through the open window escaping to the sky above.
The heat searing his back, he wiped the sweat from his brow and looked down, knowing he would have to jump. Being on the second floor he figured the fall would fail to kill him, but he understood he faced a possible broken leg or ankle. Hoping to find something soft to land on, he scanned the area below. A few bushes lined the edge of the building, but nothing else.
He felt himself fading. With his strength used up to reach the window and not enough oxygen to keep him going, the last thing he saw when his eyes closed was the world spinning as he tumbled out the window.
Pain coursed through Liam’s body as consciousness returned. More than once in his military career he felt the sting of a bullet, but this pain was different, all-encompassing.
The next thing he noticed was the return of his hearing and with it muffled voices amid the backdrop of a siren. His eyes remained stubbornly shut while every breath he took was a struggle. Something was placed on his face—possibly an oxygen mask. He faded.
He woke again, this time in a bed with no shouting voices or sirens to be heard. The pain had mercifully subsided. Morphine, he guessed. The reassuring presence of a mask was helping him breathe after inhaling an amount of smoke that probably should’ve killed him. Nano tech was no doubt repairing the damage done to his lungs. He heard the steady stream of beeps from the heart rate monitor, except there were too many of them.
Something wasn’t right.
His eyes fluttered open revealing a white hospital room. Not as alone as he thought, he found himself surrounded by a dozen, maybe more, other patients; each with their own heart rate monitors contributing to the symphony of beeps.
Doctors and nurses hustled to attend to several of the patients who appeared in dire need. Some were being wheeled away to their own rooms or to awaiting surgical teams.
Dizziness overcame him and he could sense consciousness slipping away again at any moment. If only he could get a nurse’s attention first to ask about Ann. He tried to lift an arm, but it wouldn’t budge more than an inch off the bed. Blackness returned and swallowed him into a dreamless sleep.
The next time he awoke the room was dark. It was night outside the window. The explosion happened around noon and at this time of year the darkness meant it must be at least seven hours later.
This time he was alone in a single occupancy room. For the first time he took notice of his right arm. He vaguely recalled a memory of glass slicing up his arm as he swept it away from the office window. Tight bandages wrapped nicely around his wounds. The oxygen mask remained strapped over his mouth and nose. He concentrated on his breathing and was relieved to discover it coming easier. The busy nanobots working their technological magic.
He looked left and right for a button to summon a nurse and found it. The motion to bring his hand to the button brought an agonizing pain up his arm, but he managed to get the deed done. Moments later a nurse entered the room. “Welcome back Mr. Donovan. How are you feeling? My name is Samantha. Here, let me lift this mask off. Your lungs should be stable enough now to breathe without it for at least a few minutes.” She reached down and removed the oxygen mask.
He took a breath to test out his l
ung capacity, then another. Feeling confident he tried to speak, but his hoarse voice hurt to talk.
“Thirsty,” he said almost inaudibly, his voice cracking when he spoke. The nurse nodded as she put his mask back on and said she’d get a cup. A minute later she was tipping water into his mouth and he nearly coughed it back up, but got it down eventually.
“Better?” asked Samantha.
He nodded. “Yes. It hurts to talk. What happened?”
“Well, investigation is ongoing as far as I know. There was an explosion that leveled the west wing of the building. I’m guessing you were in the east wing. ‘Course there’s nothing left of that part of the building now. It’s all burnt up to ash. That’s what I heard, anyway. As for you, you inhaled a lot of smoke and you cut up your arm pretty badly. Quite honestly, you were extremely lucky you didn’t break any bones when you fell out the window. You’ll be sore for a while, but that’s about the extent of it. The nanos are inside you healing the damage to your lungs.”
“Do you know if—” he began, but his question turned into a round of coughing. Samantha started to put the oxygen mask back on, but he put his hand up signaling her to wait. “Ann Caldwell. Is she here?”
“Yes, she’s here.”
His heart sank. But if she was here, then she was at least alive. He only hoped she wasn’t hurt too badly.
“She’s in the waiting room. Been here all day, too, waiting for you to wake up.”
Relief surged through him. She was safe. “Can I see her?”
He felt another coughing fit rising up and put his mask back on. Samantha told him she would bring her in. He watched her leave and turned his gaze out the window.
The twinkling beauty of the endless sea of stars captured his attention in the cloudless night. If terrorists caused the explosion then their goal was to stop him and his colleagues from reaching those stars. The STS commission occasionally found themselves in conflict with groups of people around the world not happy with what they were doing, but blowing up buildings? Murdering people? These destructive actions were new.
The occasional protest grew routine over time, but beyond a disorderly conduct arrest they remained mostly peaceful. The people opposed to the project were in the vast minority. Most of the remaining population believed in what they were doing and prayed for their success. It was, after all, the most important mission in human history.
His room door opened, drawing his attention away from the window. Samantha entered followed by Ann. Her red swollen eyes clear signs she’d been crying. Despite that, she beamed when she saw him and rushed to his side. The nurse said she would give them a moment and left the room, closing the door behind her.
“Thank God you’re okay! I’ve been out of my mind. Half of the victims went to another hospital and I ended up there at first. I waited an hour before they told me you weren’t even there. When I got here the doctors wouldn’t tell me much, only that you were recovering.”
He removed his mask once more and said, “I’m fine. I guess. I’ve only spoken to the nurse, but she filled me in. Seems I’m lucky. You’re not hurt?”
“No, I’m alright. The sound of the explosion scared the shit out of me, but other than that...” Ann looked away, steeling herself for what she had to say next. “Liam, a lot of people are dead. Early guesses from authorities put the number north of a hundred.”
He expected to hear that. His office resided in the second largest building on the campus, the first being the main warehouse where the construction of the STS Five took place. It had been a four story office building separated into two wings: east and west. Many of his friends worked in the west wing.
“You were all I could think about as I tried to get out. I—” another round of coughing came out of nowhere. He tried to speak through it, but Ann put the mask back on him.
“Rest Liam. Enough talking. You need to heal. I’m alright. You’re alright. Tomorrow will present us with enough problems, but for now just take it easy. I’m going to make sure that the nurse has told your doctor you’re awake.” Ann kissed him atop his head and left him alone.
He wanted to tell her that he loved her. He knew he didn’t say it enough. Being emotional was not one of his strengths. He never had anyone to tell him they loved him growing up and, until Ann came along, never said it to anyone else.
Military life drove him throughout most of his adulthood until five years ago when he took his current role with the STS commission. He had many come-and-go girlfriends, but as a result of his life dedicated to service, Ann was his first long-term relationship. Not something many thirty-seven year olds could say. They’d been together two years now after meeting at the STS Five campus.
Overseeing the construction of the STS Five ship was his job. He had a month’s worth of meetings with leading scientists from around the country to discuss their lab spaces on the ship. Toward the end of that long month he met with Ann, a leading young botanist, and her assistant, Dustin King. Liam immediately pegged Dustin as a self-righteous asshole and throughout the day’s meeting ignored him every chance he could. Meanwhile he found himself stealing glances in Ann’s direction, taken in by her beauty and her brains.
He, Ann, and Dustin along with several engineers discussed her lab needs and how they could give her everything she would need on the ship. He conducted similar meetings with other scientists from every field he knew. Not much into science himself, his philosophy in these meetings was for them to tell him what they needed and he would make sure the engineers could make it happen.
Once their meeting ended, he took Ann to the side and asked her out for dinner that evening. The rest was history. Well, they had their share of issues like any couple, mostly due to his battle with alcohol. He’d seen too much in the wars. Fought and killed too many for the scraps left over from the failures of previous generations who stood idly by as the planet decayed around them. Ann brightened the parts of his life that his past cast in shadows.
The door to his room opened once more as Ann returned with a doctor in tow. “You’re awake, I see,” the doctor said. He looked young—baby-faced. Fresh out of school perhaps. He preferred people in all professions with more experience, but considering he seemed mostly fine he decided to give the young man a chance. “I’m Dr. Banks. Sorry I wasn’t here earlier, it’s been quite a day as you can imagine.”
He removed his oxygen mask. “Not a problem, doc. I understand.”
Banks pulled up a chair next to the bed and studied his chart. “As you’re aware we injected you with nanobots to expedite the healing process in your lungs. They took quite a beating inhaling as much smoke as you did. Good thing you selected nano injection on your driver’s license. If we had to wait for your permission you likely would have died.”
He nodded along. Of course he opted for nano injection. Who wouldn’t? It wasn’t the first time he had those tiny robots inside him doing whatever technological magic they did. Likely, it would not be the last.
“I appreciate that. Listen, Dr. Banks, my job is very important. I need to get back to work. The sooner the better. When can that happen?”
“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be out long. The nanos will be done reconstructing your lungs in about twelve hours. Then another day of recovery—I’d like to keep you here during that time to monitor your improvement—I say you can return to work in two to three days. The other survivors who weren’t as lucky as you will be out longer.”
“I understand. Is my phone around here somewhere? I have a call to make.”
Dr. Banks found his phone, along with his wallet and a few other small possessions, in a bin on the other side of the room. He thanked him again and the doctor dismissed himself saying he had six other patients to check on before his shift ended. Ann took the recently vacated chair next to his bed.
“I have to call Foster. I need answers,” he told her.
“I can leave. I probably shouldn’t be here for—”
“No, it’s fine. You can stay if
you want.” But Ann shook her head and left the room to give him the privacy he needed.
He coughed again and took several breaths with the mask on before making the call. He found the number in his phone—not under Foster’s actual name—and dialed. Three rings later Foster’s voice came on the line. “Donovan! You are alive. We’ve been hearing mixed rumors up here in Columbus.”
“Alive as can be, Mr. President. I appreciate your concern.” Though he questioned how much President Carl Foster cared at all. Foster at times did little to hide his resentment toward the STS commission. As president he faced restrictions not allowing him to partake in the program. He governed a crippled country on a dying planet with the job of watching over the program building the lifeboats that he couldn’t even use to save himself. Liam understood the resentment.
“You’re healthy, then?” Foster asked.
“Getting better every second. Mr. President, what can you tell me? My instinct is telling me this was not an accident. It seems too familiar after what happened in India.”
“You would be correct. Early reports are telling us the same group behind the attack in India may be responsible. Intelligence is minimal, however. We’ve been trying to track down anything we can on them for a year with no luck. The media has made the connection, but we are not confirming anything. Not yet.”
“What can I do?”
“Get back to a hundred percent. Then we need to discuss beefing up your security. We must figure out how they got in, what they used, who they talked to. You may have a mole in your little operation down there. I’m going to have several FBI agents interview your personnel. You’re more than welcome to sit in. Security needs to be your top priority, though. You’re a military man. I’m sure you can come up with some ideas. Then we need to implement whatever you come up with at the STS Seven in Dallas. Brewer won’t like that, but that bastard can get over it.”
“I will start drafting new security protocols as soon as I’m able, sir.”
“Excellent, Donovan. I’m sure you guys can get back on your feet in no time. We do have one bit of good news. The ship’s manufacturing warehouse wasn’t damaged. It is curious why it was spared, don’t you think? If sabotage was their goal—though God help me I can’t think of why anyone would want to sabotage this—why not go for the prize?”
Proxima Page 1
